


On that Rainbow Road with You

by afractionof



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afractionof/pseuds/afractionof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nowhere else you'd rather be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On that Rainbow Road with You

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece I revamped and finished for 4/13. There’s no birthday mentions, but the sentiment is running around either way.
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this one.
> 
> Hope everyone has a good day!

You’ve been back in the Strider abode for a grand total of two hours and thirty-six minutes and you have already come to two groundbreaking re-conclusions in that amount of time.

Number one: Dave is a dweeb.

Number two: Dave’s bro is an even bigger dweeb.

You don’t really remember the first conversations you had with Dave. You guys were kids, they were probably about movies and really lame things that you thought made you ‘super cool’ at the time. Jade was probably a main topic and you know Rose was brought up pretty often, but as for chatter, you’re at a loss. Though, you think you can safely say that Nicholas Cage starred in a lot of it…

But, the one thing you do remember – and likely always will – is Dave’s bro. And Dave’s cool kid act, but it’s been years since you first saw through that.

From the beginning Dave’s bro was this mysterious dude, the guy that Dave never shut up about, complained over, but obviously thought was ‘the shit’.

He kind of freaked you out, to be honest.

No one should be that attached to The Muppets and when you realized Dave’s ‘butt puppets’ weren’t a joke, well, you still don’t know where you stand with felt. But swords were cool – they’re still kind of cool – and, at the time, anything seemed better than being the kid that always smelled like sugar and chocolate that had to be walked to school by his dad until he was thirteen.

You know why he did it, and you can understand, but what kid wants to be escorted by their parent like that?

_None of them_ – there are _no kids_ that want that and Dave? _Dave_ got to do whatever he liked.

You see now that you were Wrong. Wrong with a capital ‘W’ and a big glittery smooch, _wrong_.

Bro’s kind of a butt, but he’s a nice butt. He’s funny too (from your view, at least) and has spent more time pestering Dave than anything else since they picked you up at the airport. He tugs his sleeves, ruffles his hair, and you swear you saw something flying through the air the last time Dave absconded to get a drink of water, but don’t know what it was. All you know is that the frustrated yelp that followed made Bro smile – just a tiny twitch of the lips – before Dave came back out and it was replaced by the standard Strider poker face.

Really, why do they do that? What are they, brick walls?

No, they’re not.

They are dweebs and from your perch on the futon, you have a perfect view of their dweeb-dom.

“I hate rainbow road,” Dave groans and you roll your eyes. This is their twelfth match and Bro’s picked it every single time. You’re pretty sure he’s trying to see how much it takes to make Dave puke, but you’re not going to say that out-loud, lest put a stopper in the entertainment and get your ass handed to you in the process.

Never let it be said that you voluntarily called down the wrath of Dave Strider and all that.

“Suck it up, kid. You wanted t’play.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Does that make you the horse?”

You try not to laugh but you’ve never been good at that and slap a hand over your mouth to muffle it when Dave turns, narrowing his eyes at you as your shoulders shake.

It’s good to be home.

“Don’t encourage him, Egbert, his head’s already big enough. You want it to explode? Brain matter everywhere. Splat. And you’ll be the one cleaning that shit up.”

“Gross, Dave.” You stick your tongue out at him and he huffs, turning back to the television.

“Remember, John, _your fault_.”

“Jerk.”

Dave just grunts in response and you duck your head, sipping from the juice box you had to forcibly remove from Dave’s hands just so you didn’t die of thirst.

Some friend he is.

When you glance up, you can see Bro looking at you from the corner of his shades, eyebrows up, and there it is again – that twitchy lip thing.

You’re not sure he’s even paying attention to the game, or Dave’s swearing, but you’d wager that’s pretty normal. His thumb is pushing around the little joystick with ease that’s way beyond practiced and right into automatic. Briefly, you wonder how long they’ve been doing this. Dave never mentioned it but, now, seeing it, it’s easy to imagine them every couple nights, holed up on the couch with the same big bowl filled with Cheetos, a couple cartons of juice, and a six pack, trying to kill each other on the 64. 

The thought makes you smile a little more and you chew the end of your straw, glancing at Dave’s back.

You know Bro’s still looking at you and you’re pretty sure Dave can tell that you’re looking at him and the weird circle that it makes isn’t as unnerving as it should be.

They’re… different, to say the least.

But, you don’t think that’s a bad thing.

This is their own little world and you get to be a part of that. Really, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to feel special or not, but you do.

When Dave stands, dropping the controller on Bro’s lap as the victory tone rings from the screen, you shake your head at his huffy tone.

“Asshole. Pick a different place, unless you want to revisit my lunch up close and personal.”

You’re pretty sure Bro rolls his eyes but if it’s because he can hear Dave’s smile just as clearly as you can or because that threat was really weak, you don’t know. It could be both, you suppose, and stretch your legs out when Dave wanders off toward the kitchen, wiggling your toes in your socks.

They’re red. Just for Dave.

“You want another beer?”

Bro nods and, loudly, you suck the rest of the juice for your box, letting the choppy, clicking of the last drops go on until you don’t have any other choice but to breathe.

“Jesus, Egbert,” Dave snaps from the kitchen, “Do you want some anything-but-my-aj-you-thieving- _ass_? How about water? Yeah? Cool. Water it is, bro. Good choice.”

You laugh again, unable to help yourself when Bro lifts a hand, miming the universal sign ‘blah, blah, blah’ and you can practically hear Dave scowl from the other room. “Fine,” you call. “Jerk!” You don’t mind water and you’re already feeling pretty smug you got the one, precious carton you did, so you’ll let it slide without any whining – this time!

It is you.

Swiping the coveted AJ right out of Dave’s pasty-pale, clinging, monkey-fingers.

“Good.”

His voice makes you jump, coming from right behind your ear, and you’re undecided on whether it’s his warm breath or the cold water bottle he drops in your lap that startles you more.

You’ll call it a tie.

You open your mouth to protest what a jerk he is, scrambling to get the plastic off your leg as the chill sinks through your shorts, but the words fade on the tip of your tongue when you look up and Dave’s nudging Bro’s leg with his foot.

“Here,” he mutters, holding out the bottle, cap off, and mysteriously ready for drinking. Bro takes it with a nod and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to put an end to the smile that’s threatening to over-take your face when their fingers brush and their knuckles rub purposefully in some kind of fist-bump that’s barely more than a butterfly kiss. Dave sits beside him and Bro’s hand finds Dave’s shoulder squeezing briefly. It’s a softer touch than you normally see them use and you know you’re not imagining things when Dave leans into it, just a little bit, or when Bro’s lips twitch again, but hold just long enough for you to really get a good look at it.

…god, you love them.

You’re tempted to say it, but you think it might ruin the moment and hold your silence, stretching out across the futon instead.

If you’re smiling behind the top of your water bottle, or scooting closer to the edge of the cushion so your fingers can touch Dave’s back and one of your knees can brush Bro’s shoulder, well, you’re pretty confident that they won’t bring it up and, if they do, you don’t really mind.

They love you too, you know that. They just show that kind of thing a little… differently.

“So, ready for me t’kick your ass again, kid?”

Dave snorts, elbowing Bro’s side and just like that the softness is gone. “Bring it, old man.”

Bro tosses the controller at him, selecting Rainbow Road for the thirteenth – fourteenth? You’ve lost count – time and you roll your eyes at them.

‘Differently’, probably doesn’t begin to describe how the do things.

They’re dorks. They’re dweebs that put up their cool kid faces when the lights come on and ‘shit gets real’ or they’ve run out of words to say that tease you endlessly for ‘dorky’, ‘dweeby’ things.

But you love that. You love their ‘differently’.

And it’s nights like these, moments like these, that are your favorite. You get to see both sides of them, more of the softness that’s usually contained behind cheap, dark plastic and a neutral expression.

They’re safe, lost in their own little world with you in the background.

But even in their own little world, they still have time to reach back and touch your fingers, to squeeze your knees, or tug your shirt, and you know, without a doubt, that even if they don’t say it in some many words, your ‘differently’ has found a place with theirs. You’re part of that safety, that comfort, and there’s nowhere else that any of you would rather be than on that Rainbow Road with each other.


End file.
